


SomeBODY Once Told Me The World Is Gonna Roll Me

by jendavis



Series: Some Hardison/Eliot Stories [3]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: Four Things Keeping Eliot Alive + 1 That'll Kill Him(The last of three in the series, idk if you need to read them but the earlier two will give context)(Also, this whole thing's for Kim!  Even though it might not've been what you'd had in mind, I hope you dig it anyway)





	

_Four Things Keeping Eliot Alive_

**1\. the others got out clear**

He'd lost sight of them before the bullets had started flying- they'd lost sight of _everything_ , when Everton's lackeys at the power company had plunged the streets below into car headlights and darkness- but he can hear them over the comms. 

Nathan, ordering them to drop what they're doing, calling for retreat. 

Parker, chiming in that she and their clients' daughter have been drinking soda at the safehouse for ten minutes, already, and wanting to know _what the hell's taking everyone so long?_

Hardison, running everything from the back of the van parked on the street behind the 3rd Precinct, navigating an exit for Sophie, keeping her clear of all of the crossfire. On his phone, he can see the dots of their trackers starting to converge seven blocks away. 

"Eliot, you good?"

"Clear for now." Peering over the edge of the building, he can see the police showing up and Everton's goons drawing back. The gunshots are moving down Main. "Fighting seems to be moving west, but there's a sniper across the street... sixteenth floor."

**2\. this ain't their first rodeo**

"Okay, Eliot?" Hardison's saying. "As soon as they run out of ammo, we're coming to you."

"You need to get Desiree back to her folks," Eliot grumbles. This is all pointless, otherwise. "I'm good."

"You sure?" Nathan's tone is as even as it ever is; he has to ask, but he knows what's at stake, here. 

"Just _said_ that, didn't I?"

There's a frustrated exhalation on the line; even before he speaks, Eliot knows it's Hardison. "All right," he says. "Give a shout if anything changes. Blackout's downed most of the cameras, but your tracker's still transmitting just fine. We've got you."

**3: duct tape, paper towels, a couple hundred hours of field medic training**

The first one was a through and through, just barely clipped his arm, but it's the one in the back of his left calf that's got his attention. 

The through and through in his arm just rankles. Everton's crew hadn't even been _aiming_ for him. They'd just started rolled up seventh and started spraying bullets up into the air indiscriminately. 

What actually _hurts_ , though, is the one in the back of his calf that had come ten minutes later, after he'd taken out the two who'd figured that the janitor working on the roof at five in the morning might've seemed slightly suspicious.

 _That_ bullet had come from across the street, and he should've known to _look_ for it.

**4\. the others aren't here to see this.**

Not _all_ the fighting is moving west, and Everton's thugs may be assholes, but they're not idiots. They've got guns, they've just realized that they're down two men, and the remaining five are circling back to regroup. 

They'll be up here any minute, and while a fourteenth story rooftop provides a great vantage point for the cameras Eliot had come up here to tap, but it's no match for the extra floors the sniper across the street has on him. 

His cover's been blown, and there's next to no cover up here, just a low brick wall rimming the building.

His only exit- the roof's maintenance door- is thirty yards away, impossible to reach or defend, should anyone come up here looking. And seeing as how Hardison's back on comms, yelling at him that they're heading into the lobby, dealing less with _should_ than with _when_.

As he creeps along the wall, getting as close to the door as he can without revealing himself- to the best of his knowledge- to the sniper's scope, a few things become glaringly apparent. 

Firstly, the wound in his shoulder- now that he's half crawling on it- is a bigger problem than he'd let himself admit. 

And secondly, if they've had any training at all- and they may be dirty traitorous bastards, but they'd been _SEALS_ , once- for every one that comes through the door, there'll be another one covering him from inside. They're going to have every advantage, up here. 

\--- 

_\+ 1 That'll Kill Him_

\---

**1\. If Hardison's telling him that they're coming, it means he's close enough to _see_ that they're coming**

Eliot twists out his earpiece and grinds it under his heel, just as the door swings open. Maybe- _hopefully_ \- it'll spook Hardison into backing off. 

Maybe it'll just spare them all from having to hear this. 

It's less than twenty yards, from here. And he'd come up that way; he knows the top of the stairwell makes for some awkward angles, so he bolts forward and left. If the guys with the guns are right handed, their own elbows will get in their way as they try to focus their aim. 

He clears five yards, and it's almost funny, because as he's going down, he's still a little surprised to find the first shot to ring out isn't _his_. 

He doesn't even have a gun. But the sun's coming up. 

\--- 

_(+ 1 That Gives Him Life)_

**1\. Hardison's yelling at him from the other side of the couch**

" _...and_ , I don't even care if they got you in the head, if you got shot, tellin' us that there's a sniper across the street is _not_ the same as tellin' us you've been hit. Screw your macho bullshit-"

Apparently he'd fallen asleep again. His feet are wedged under Hardison's legs. 

"Hardison, I'm fine."

"You even been _listening_?"

"Now? Nah. You got a problem with it, you take it up with Dr. Overdose." He frowns, pushing himself up off the couch. His throat's dry, but he doesn't even get a chance to reach for the bottle of water before Hardison's thrusting it in his face.

"Doctor Dos _see_ ain't the problem, here."

"It's me, right?"

"Oh, I dunno, let me see," Hardison rolls his eyes, grabs a magazine off the stack on the coffee table, flipping it over to the cover and pretending to read. "Oh look, there's a quiz right here. "Is Eliot Taking Five Years Off Your Life By Bein' a Lowdown, Lying, _Everything's Fine, Nothin' to See Here_ Idiot?" Shaking his head, he looks up. "I got a pen around here somewhere, man."

It's Eliot's turn to roll his eyes as he sits up and grabs the magazine. Some model, stylish enough to look absolutely ridiculous in a decade, is leaning over bold block print promising a _Bikini Body in Four Weeks_. 

"Nah, see," he corrects him, "You need glasses. Right there, it says _Is Hardison Still Overreacting Two Days Later?_

"Hey, at least you're saving me the effort of invalidating your argument," Hardison snatches it back, actually reading the lines for the first time. "It's been three days, man."

Eliot huffs- putting as much annoyance into it as he can, since it'll cover how suddenly the ache in his side that he's mostly managed to ignore is bearing down on him, and lies down. Rolling his shoulder settles his arm into a more comfortable position, but also looks enough like a shrug for his purposes. 

Stretching his bandaged leg out- there'd been stitches, and it's going to be a while before he can walk easily on it- he's surprised when Hardison catches his ankle and eases back into the couch, resettling both of his feet on his lap. 

It's the most comfortable Eliot's been in two- well, apparently _three_ days, and if Hardison's good with it, well, there ain't no reason to move. 

"Where is everybody?"

"Closing up shop with the Jacksons." Hardison glances down at his phone, but apparently there's nothing new there. "Everton's crew is done for, in case you missed it the first seven or eight times. You hungry or anything?"

Honestly, he can't tell; painkillers always mess with his appetite. So he shakes his head. 

"Still too doped up?"

"Dunno, probably."

"One way to find out."

"What's that?"

He's jostled, slightly, as Hardison leans over him, grabbing another magazine off the pile. It's another of Sophie's. Damn things been multiplying on the coffee table for the past few days. 

"There's a scintillating article on the best lipstick and eye combinations for spring."

"Pass."

"An interview with Beyonce."

"What? You ain't read it already?"

"Damned skippy," Hardison finally leans back, getting settled in, and flips it open. "So, back to stupid Cosmo quiz time."

Eliot groans, closing his eyes, but it's not a deterrent, probably. 

"Question the first. Does he take time to hang out with you when you're sick?"

"Does shot three times count?"

"Yes. And yes, he _does_ ," Hardison nods firmly to himself. "Does he let you win every fight, or does he argue?"

" _Let_ me win?"

"See, that right there? That's a no."

Snorting hurts. Worse, it spikes his adrenaline levels just enough that it's making his chest hurt. "This gonna be goin' somewhere?"

" _That_ depends on whether or not you stay awake for the damn thing."

"No promises." It's a lie. 

"Hey look," Hardison turns to show him the page he's looking on, "that's actually the next question: Do you stay up, just waiting to hear from him?"

"Apparently," though his eyes are telling him it's a losing battle. He fights them open again just as Hardison's taking the magazine back. 

The quiz's title reads, _Should You Date Him?_

There's no way he's going to sleep right now, but he keeps his eyes closed. "If the next question's anything about commandeering police helicopters to pull anyone's sorry ass off a rooftop, you can probably just skip to the results and call it a win."

It's a stupid thing to say- and it's probably just that the painkillers are working overtime that he'd said it at all, but they're not so strong that he can't feel Hardison tensing. But then he's shifting, leaning forward again. 

It only takes a few seconds for curiosity- because that's all it is, really- to win out over the steadily-encroaching awkwardness, and Eliot opens his eyes again. 

Hardison's biting his smirk into a frown as he scrawls in the magazine, pausing to glance sideways out of it.

"Commandeering, that's _two_ m's, right?"

God, he's going to die, choked out on his own heart crawling up into his throat. "Two e's, too."

Hardison looks at the page for a minute, then beams at him, blasting him with deliberate overconfidence. "Well, shit. That puts us right on the edge, man. One for the tiebreaker?"

"Uh. Sure." This is getting embarrassing. Or should be. _Would_ be, if Hardison wasn't right down here with him. 

"Kissing him, on a scale of Auntie Grizelda drunk at Thanksgiving, to that which was described in the Princess Bride..." 

"No idea," he says, pushing himself up again. "C'mere and find out." It's half bluster when he says it, but Hardison's got the magazine upside down anyways. And more to the point, he's kissing him back. 

Hardison's mouth tastes like orange soda, which at least answers _that_ question, but it's uncomfortable as hell. Never mind the fact it's been a while since he's brushed his teeth, his side hurts and his leg's all stretched out weird, now, and there's no supporting himself on his arm. 

"Could be worse," he mutters, pulling away slightly with an apologetic wince. 

"Yeah. I could do without the pained cringing. Lie the hell down, man." He scoots forward, making room on the couch for Eliot's feet this time. But he doesn't move far, and he's grinning- a little ridiculously. 

"Gonna have to call for a redo. Damn quiz had everything in it down to the helicopters, but didn't account for making out while injured."

"Gonna have to cancel your subscription then."

"The _hell_ I will," Hardison gives him a scandalized scowl, but it's eased up by the time Eliot's pulling him back down, and all Eliot can tell a second later is that it feels a hell of a lot like a grin against his mouth.


End file.
